They’d tried to forget it, tried to leave it in Raleigh, but it made the trip, hiding amongst the other boxes still sealed from the move. He hesitates, opening it like an old creased photograph. Water fills him, ice cold and rushing. The doll inside never enjoyed; packed carefully, intimately and with good intentions. Caressing its cheek, he regains himself. He finds the card inside, hands it to his waiting wife and watches her face. He stands. They embrace, heads bowed. Its tiny eyes closed, cherubic. She kisses the card before returning it. He uses blue tape like new stitches.

Ryan Dempsey lives with his wife and daughter in Pittsburgh, PA. His written work has appeared in Gravel, The Portland Review, Toasted Cheese, The Molotov Cocktail, and others.